


So I Bare My Skin For You

by TheExplodingPen



Series: what's mine is yours to make your own [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Kneeling, Light BDSM, M/M, Orders, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sub Pietro Maximoff, Training, Triggers, Trust Issues, pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheExplodingPen/pseuds/TheExplodingPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Steve assigns him to be the kid's handler, and when he tells Pietro, something in the kid's shoulders relaxes, even as he snipes, “I hope you can keep up with me, old man.”</em>
</p><p>  <em>Clint messes up his hair, and tries not to think about the way the kid's breath hitches when his fingers catch a few of the strands a little hard.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	So I Bare My Skin For You

Clint's pretty damn happy that the kid is okay. Thinking about that afternoon in Sokovia never fails to make his chest ache and his throat go dry, and usually, whenever those kinds of thoughts cross his mind, he finds an excuse to visit the kid in his room, because seeing him quells most of the guilt he feels. And, honestly, Pietro seems to have taken a bit of a liking to him (not that he'd ever admit it) after he realized that Clint wasn't going to _fucking punish him._

Clint kind of wants to wrap his hands around Strucker's neck and watch the life drain out of his eyes. And he would, if the man wasn't dead already. Because what he did to these kids, what he did to all of them, it's sick and awful and Clint can't _fix_ any of it for Pietro and Wanda. He's pretty damn happy they're both staying, though, because if they're with the rest of the team, then Clint can keep an eye out for them, for Pietro, especially, because Wanda has Vision and Clint has a sneaking suspicion that Pietro bore the brunt of Strucker's cruelty. 

He's got a the same sneaking suspicion that Pietro was the pawn, because that's how he would have played it. You could tie the kid up or sedate him long enough to get him immobilized, and that was the end of his power. But Wanda? _Tony_ still hadn't figured out a way to contain her power, or at least block it so that she could sleep without accidentally dream-sharing. She was the powerful one, and she loved her brother.

Yeah. Clint suspects that Pietro hasn't told her everything, and probably won't, either. 

But he's happy that the kid's safe. He's still not entirely over what happened in the hospital room, because Pietro thought that they were going to hurt him, that Clint was going to hurt him, because he needed a fucking blood transfusion. So maybe Clint stops by the kid's room a little more often than he should so he can sit next to his bed and pet Pietro's hair when he's calm, and banter with him when he's feeling restless, because he feels the need to convince him that he's actually safe. 

Steve assigns him to be the kid's handler, and when he tells Pietro, something in the kid's shoulders relaxes, even as he snipes, “I hope you can keep up with me, old man.”

Clint messes up his hair, and tries not to think about the way the kid's breath hitches when his fingers catch a few of the strands a little hard.

And, after that, when the kid gets officially discharged, Clint's still happy that he's safe and alive, but _goddammit_ if Pietro isn't fucking annoying sometimes.

As his handler, Clint's officially put in charge of training him and making sure he can get to the point where he can do trainings with the rest of the team, but the thing is, Pietro doesn't like to follow orders he thinks are stupid. And he thinks every order that passes Clint's lips is stupid, because Pietro “I could do that in half the time if you just let me do it my way” Maximoff knows his powers so much better than Clint does.

To an extent, that's true. Pietro knows his limits, even if he doesn't respect them, but Clint is a big-picture kind of guy. He and Steve end up being the ones who go over the logs, post-mission, to figure out what went wrong and what can be improved on for next time. So he knows, for the most part, how Steve is going to want to use the kid, and he's not going to be able to if Pietro can't follow a godforsaken order.

“All right, that's it!” he calls out one day, in the middle of training. Pietro skids to a halt, and he's not even panting, the bastard, even though he's been running around the track outside for nearly fifteen minutes and blatantly ignoring Clint's directive to keep in under 100 mph. The kid's _fast_ , he gets that, but he needs to learn how to control it or else he's going to be a liability in the field. 

“What do you mean, 'that's it'?”

The kid has the nerve to look at him like he's offended, so Clint notches an arrow and lets it fly in his direction. It passes over Pietro's shoulder, and now he looks annoyed, and that's marginally better. 

“I mean, that's it. We're done.” Clint slides his quiver off his shoulder, setting it down on a bench. “You're done for the day. When you figure out how to listen to an order, we can try this again.”

He expects the kid to be pissed, because Pietro doesn't ever take well to Clint doing his job, but he doesn't expect to look up and find the kid in his space, about an inch away from him, eyes narrowed and fists clenched at his sides. Clint blinks, and when his eyes focus again, he realizes that Pietro's vibrating enough that the edges of him are soft and feathered instead of defined, and if that's not a little worrisome, he doesn't know what is.

“I am never going to be able to train with the others if we do not keep going,” the kid spits, and Clint has to clench his hand around his bow to stop himself from smacking the speedster with it. Pietro just glares, though, and keeps talking, one of his hands coming up so he can poke Clint's chest. “You are supposed to be helping me. Making me better.” He pokes Clint again, harder, and his hands are shaking, too. “I am not getting _better_.”

The truth is, he's not, and Clint knows it, but he doesn't know how to fix it, because none of the tried-and-true methods that Coulson used with him are working. Pietro just isn't responding.

“No,” he admits. “You're not.”

Pietro jerks back like Clint slapped him instead of agreeing with him, and his expression is a little shocked and a little... something else, something that Clint can't quite place. But the kid's not vibrating anymore, which is a good thing, so Clint continues. “You're not getting any better, because you won't put any damn effort in. I can't do shit for you if you don't try, all right? That's not how this works. So we're done, because I'm sick of telling you to slow the fuck down for the day. When you feel like actually doing what you're told, kid, let me know, and we can try this again.”

“I am not a _kid_ , old man.”

“Oh, suck a dick, Pietro.”

He looks down to rip the Velcro strap of his glove off, and when he looks up again, _he's_ the one who's jerking back, surprised. Pietro's on his knees in the dirt, fists clenched at his sides again, face flushed and chest heaving. And he's looking up at Clint with defiance in his eyes and his head thrown back, but he's on his knees and _what the hell is going on?_

Slowly, he re-attaches the strap to his glove and flexes his fingers, which suddenly itch, just a little, to slide into Pietro's hair and pull. The black leather would be in stark contrast to the kid's white hair, and Clint knows it would look good, knows that Pietro would probably like it, too, but there's something up here and it's not sitting well with him, and at this point in his life, Clint Barton knows to trust his gut.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but doesn't move any closer. Pietro's not even an arm's length away from him, and that's already too close, given their positions, but he doesn't want to step away from the kid either, because whatever this is needs to be dealt with and dealt with right now.

“If I do it, will you continue to train me?” Pietro's knuckles are white, and he's very clearly not happy about where he is, and that about kills every desire Clint has dead. 

“If you do what?” Clint asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows the answer to that. “Blow me? No. I told you, we're done for the day.” Slowly, carefully, he reaches out, laying a gloved hand on Pietro's shoulder. “That wasn't an order, kid. You know that, right? It was a 'fuck off', not a 'fuck me'.”

The kid snorts, like he can't help himself, but he also doesn't get to his feet. His fists unclench, though, and his head drops, and Clint steps forward until that shock of white hair is pressed up against his hip. He allows himself, then, to gently push his fingers through the white strands, until he sees the tension start to melt out of Pietro's shoulders. He knows he should tell the kid to get to his feet, but he's a little wary about directives at the moment, and Pietro looks relaxed for the first time since they started training. 

“Pietro? Did you hear me?”

The kid nods against his hip, and then shivers, but he doesn't say anything. He just pauses, and then nods again, before murmuring, “I know. I knew.”

Clint suspects that maybe the kid didn't know, and that worries him, on a few levels, but he's not going to press it at the moment. Instead, he keeps stroking his hand through Pietro's hair, being careful not to tug. He's about to suggest that the ground can't be all that comfortable when Pietro shifts, and his arms slide around Clint's calf, and that's _different_. The kid's all pressed up against his leg, leaning against him, and Clint's petting his hair, and this is definitely not training anymore. 

“You would not ask for something like that,” Pietro says, after a moment, and Clint's suddenly very glad that the material of his pants is thick, because he's got a feeling that if it wasn't, he'd be feeling Pietro's lips moving against his skin. “You... I know you would not.” It sounds like he's telling himself as much as he's telling Clint, but not like he's trying to convince himself. Just... being reassuring, or something like that.

It makes Clint's guilt ease a little, but it doesn't explain why the kid dropped to his knees. And Pietro doesn't offer the information, so Clint stops stroking his hair for a moment. “Glad to hear you know that, at least. Because you're right. I wouldn't ask for that, not in exchange for training you. You've got that from me, no matter what, all right?” He waits for Pietro's little nod before continuing. “You wanna tell me why you're on your knees?”

“No,” the kid says, so quietly that Clint barely catches it. And that's fair enough, because he did ask if he wanted to, so that's on him. He spreads his fingers again, and pushes them through the kid's hair, and Pietro leans up into it, making Clint wonder, a little, if maybe he's a little touch-starved. 

“Hey, kid? When was the last time you had a hug?”

Pietro doesn't answer for a long minute, and when he does, his voice is still quiet. “Wanda hugs me,” he says. “Often.”

“Someone other than your sister,” Clint clarifies. “Because I know you love her, and I'm not questioning that, but you and I both know that keeping up those mental barriers isn't easy, especially if she's touching you.”

Pietro slumps a little, shoulders sagging. “She means well,” he says, softly. “She does. But there are things... it is harder to hide them, now. Training makes me remember, sometimes. And I do not want her to worry.”

The kid's still on his knees, and it's not like Clint minds, because he doesn't. He doesn't mind running his fingers through the kid's hair, or talking to him, or bringing him out of whatever frenzy he worked himself into. But he'd like to know what caused it in the first place, and why Pietro is as comfortable as he is like this.

“Do you wanna tell me why you're on your knees, now?”

“No,” Pietro answers again, but it's followed by a sigh. “I... I thought that you would _do_ something, if I did. Make me focus. I _can't_ focus. I keep trying, I do, I am trying, I swear. But if I do not run fast it all builds up until I am shaking and I... I hate it.” He shudders. “I know there are other ways to make me focus. Strucker and his men discovered a few.”

The things Clint would do to that man, if he were still alive.

“Pietro, look at me,” he says, and waits until Pietro's electric blue eyes are on his. “That shit, what happened to you in Sokovia, none of that carries over to here. They hurt you, and abused you, and tried to control you. That's not the end goal here. That's not _my_ goal. I want you to learn how to control your power, so you can use it to its full potential. And if it takes us a while to get there, then it'll take us a while. It's okay. The most important thing here in that you feel safe with me, with this.” He pauses. “Do you?”

Pietro tilts his head up a little more, and he's a picture at the moment, on his knees, neck all but bared, with Clint's gloved hand still in his hair. He's gorgeous is what he is, but Clint doesn't say that. He's not Strucker. He doesn't want to hurt the kid, and that includes bringing any of _that_ shit up when he's obviously not in a good head space. 

“I go slow for you,” Pietro says, and his words carry weight, like they're supposed to mean something. And Clint knows that he must look confused, because Pietro starts to clarify a moment later. “I slow down for you. As much as I can right now. I do for Wanda, too.” He pauses again, and then sighs. “I _can_ be slow, for you two.”

And then, Clint gets it. Gets the insane amount of trust that Pietro's placing in him, to slow down for him like that. It's a little staggering, and his fingers curl a little in the kid's hair before he realizes what he's doing, like that will help the situation somehow. It doesn't help, but Pietro's breath hitches, just a little.

“Sorry,” Clint murmurs, and the kid shakes his head, making Clint pull on his hair accidentally. 

“I like it,” he says, and his eyes meet Clint's and there's a challenging look there that's in complete contrast to the way Pietro's kneeling. “I like it,” the kid repeats, and it's a little earnest this time. Desperate, Clint would say, if he was even _considering_ doing anything with the boy kneeling at his feet.

“You sound a little desperate to me,” Clint says, and fucking hell, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. He doesn't want to start anything, not right now, not with Pietro, who's half his age and thought that Clint was going to beat him not two weeks ago and doesn't know the difference between working on an attention span and being forced to give someone a blow job. But the kid just nods, licking his lips, and doesn't break eye contact with Clint.

“You are my handler, no? Then handle me.”

Pietro smirks, and Clint tugs on his hair and thinks _Little shit knows exactly how to play me._

* * *

They step into the elevator, and Pietro moves fast, so Clint blinks and then the kid's all up in his space, sliding his hands up his chest before curling his fingers in his shirt and trying to kiss him. But Clint puts a hand on his chest and _pushes_ , so that Pietro ends up pressed up against the doors, pupils blown and mouth already opening to protest.

“No. Listen.” Clint waits for the pair of blue eyes to focus on him before he continues. “I'm not going to fuck you, if that's what you're after.”

The kid pouts, fucking pouts, and even goes as far as tipping his head back and spreading his legs. And Clint could slide his hand up around that pretty, pale throat and squeeze just hard enough to make the kid feel each breath, but he doesn't, because they haven't talked and _that_ is something you talk about. Pietro isn't in any mood to talk, though, and that's evident, so they aren't going to do anything that involves them getting that... intense.

“You said you would handle me,” Pietro says, and Clint didn't say any such thing, just told the kid to get in the elevator. “You _said_.” And he sounds desperate, and he's still pressed up against the wall, holding himself there, and Clint might ache to touch, just a little. 

“I didn't say anything,” Clint says, and pointedly doesn't touch, pulling his hands back from Pietro's chest, even if he curls his fingers in his gloves a little, listening to the leather creak. “And I didn't promise anything. If you want something, kid, you need to ask for it.”

Making Pietro ask for what he wants fulfills multiple purposes. First, it lets Clint know what the kid's okay with, what he actually wants out of this. And second, well, it might help fulfill the desire Clint has to hear the kid beg. He realizes, objectively, that Pietro's half his age and is as fucked up in the head as any of them are, but he's an adult, and they all get to make their own choices. Even if they're bad, bad ones.

Pietro lifts his chin a little, but then he opens his mouth and says, “I want you to touch me,” and Clint figures that the kid's desperation to _come_ might outweigh his embarrassment at having to voice what he wants. “Is that not... I thought... You _said_...”

“Shh, I know. I know.” Clint still doesn't touch Pietro, but he does reach out, hitting the 'stop' button on the elevator. He waves off JARVIS's question, telling him they're fine, before he turns his attention back to Pietro, who's now looking at him a little warily, though he hasn't moved from where he's pressed up against the wall. “We're going to talk, right here. Because I'm pretty sure you're going to be useless at that once we get to your room.” He pauses. “You want me to touch you. Handle you, right? How?”

“How?” Pietro repeats, like it should be obvious. “Just... touch me. I do not know, however you want.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that, kid? Because how I'm thinking right now, I want to hold you to the wall by your wrists and tell you how to rub off against my leg, _if you're good_.”

He watches as Pietro's hips jerk forward of their own accord, listens as a soft whine leaves his lips. He nods, and then looks up, meeting Clint's eyes. “Please,” he says, and he looks like sex incarnate, face flushed and voice breathy, and Clint just wants to wreck him, wants to leave little marks all over that pale neck and swallow the kid's moans when he comes. If Clint lets him come.

Because the way the kid is acting, Clint figures that getting him there, right to the edge, and then backing off, might be a little conducive towards teaching him some patience.

“Like that,” Pietro breathes, eyes blown wide. “Touch me like that.”

So Clint steps forward to give the kid a taste, takes his wrists and pins them above his head with one hand and slides his knee forward just a little until he encounters Pietro's dick, hard and hot in his track pants. And fuck, the kid responds. He all but goes limp, and his mouth falls open, and the sound that falls from his lips is pornographic. Clint's self-control is wearing thin around the edges, a little, and maybe he presses a little harder than intended with his knee and squeezes the kid's wrists a little tighter than he wanted to, but Pietro responds like he's been doing this for ages and just relaxes, letting Clint hold him up. He's making little rocking motions against his thigh, and for the most part, he's listening, keeping them slow.

“Like this?” Clint asks, and Pietro lets out a rushed breath of air.

“Yes, fuck, _yes_ , like this. Please, Clint, sir, _please_.” The kid's begging, desperate, and the reality of it all hits Clint for a second. It hits him that he's probably the first person to touch the kid anything like this since HYDRA, and the thought makes his grip soften a little, which in turn makes Pietro whine. “I will be good,” he says, and then his eyes are on Clint's, wide and pleading. “I will, I promise. Please, I can do this. I can...”

“Shh, kid,” Clint says, gently, and then kisses him.

Pietro tenses under the kiss, and for a moment, Clint thinks he's fucked up, fucked up majorly, because he didn't ask and he should have _goddammit_. This is new territory, and it's Pietro, and they've both got PTSD and triggers galore and Clint should have thought this through. But Pietro doesn't panic, and doesn't complain, just makes the most gorgeous noise Clint has ever heard and opens underneath him, offering Clint his mouth to take however he wants.

Clint's aching in his pants.

“Fuck, kid,” he murmurs, his free hand skating up Pietro's side, drawing another delicious noise out of him. The kid's sensitive and responsive, and Clint's already a little drunk on it, sinking into that head space where everything's a little sharper, a little more focused on his partner. “Look at you. You're so fucking eager for it, aren't you?”

He kisses Pietro again before the kid can answer, swallows down his reply before reaching over to punch the button to get the elevator started again. It jerks, and so does Pietro, his head falling back against the doors when Clint leans back. 

“Oh,” he says, and his chest is heaving, his lips shiny, his eyes wide and dark. He's fucking _gorgeous_. “You... you kissed me.”

Pietro sounds unsure, and that's not doing much for how Clint's feeling about the situation, so he releases the kid's hands and gently guides them back down to his sides. “Yeah,” he says, “sorry. Won't do it again if you don't want me to. I should have asked. I'm sorry.”

But Pietro shakes his head and reaches out, quick, albeit shaky fingers fisting in Clint's shirt. “No! No, I like it. They... they never kissed me.”

This Pietro is a lot different from the one out in the field, cocky and self-assured. This Pietro is holding onto Clint like he's afraid the older man is going to leave, telling him in a shy voice that he likes to be kissed and the bastards that tortured him never did that. It breaks Clint's heart, because he knows that feeling, knows about being so fucking unused to good things that they're surprising when they happen. 

“I'd like to kiss you,” Clint says, gently. “I'm not them, Pietro, okay? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to use you. I'm your handler. It's my job to take care of you, make sure you're functioning well and that you're healthy, all around.” He reaches up, straightening the kid's hair. “And I'm never going to do anything you're not completely okay with.”

The look Pietro gives him is so saturated with gratefulness that Clint doesn't resist the urge to reach out and pull the kid in close to himself, stroking a hand down his back. Pietro's not shaking anymore, not vibrating out of his skin, which is good, but the kid's also worrying him. He goes from full of confidence to telling Clint that the people who used and abused him never kissed him almost in the blink of eye, and it makes Clint wonder a little just how much of the confidence is a facade. 

“I like it,” the kid says against his neck, and it takes Clint a moment to realize that he's saying that he likes to be kissed. “It feels... good.” After a pause, Pietro continues. “The other things are good, too. Holding me like that.” He swallows. “Making me come. I... I want that with you.”

Clint, god help him, wants that, too.

He says as much, and watches as the kid looks up at him with those clear blue eyes and grins, some of the self-assurance that Clint's used to seeping back into his expression. “Great,” Clint says, and the elevator doors open, so he gently nudges the kid backwards in the direction of his bedroom. “Then let's get somewhere a little more private, because I have a feeling that you look fucking gorgeous when you come.”

Pietro makes a sound like someone sucker-punched him to the gut, winded and a little pathetic, and Clint can't help but grin and glance down to see that the kid's hard-on hasn't suffered much from the change in tone of their conversation.

Pietro opens the door while Clint stands behind him, hands on his hips, not touching him anywhere else. He just lets his hands rest there, thumbs rubbing gently at the small of his back, letting Pietro just get used to the feeling of his hands on him. Handling, is what the kid called it. 

The door clicks open, and Pietro steps forward, but he doesn't get much farther than a step or two before Clint tightens his grip on the kid's hips and pulls him back against his chest. “You want to come?” he asks, and the kid nods, pressing back against his chest. 

“Then get up against the wall,” Clint says, and Pietro obeys so fast that it makes Clint's head spin. He glances over and sees the kid with his back to the wall, hands up over his head, mouth slightly open, chest heaving, and he takes a moment to just watch, watch as the kid starts to squirm the longer he stands there.

“You need a safeword,” he says, and that makes the kid stop with the restless motions for a moment. “You know what that is?”

Pietro shakes his head, and Clint realizes that this is probably his first experience with any consensual form of D/s. No one's stopped to check with him, to make sure he's on board, because Clint knows that HYDRA didn't do that, and he doubts that any of the kid's previous partners thought about it, given Pietro's cocky confidence. 

“It's like... it's like the emergency brake on a car,” he explains, watching as Pietro's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “If something happens and you don't like what we're doing anymore, or you feel like you're going to be triggered, or you just want to stop for any reason, you just say that word, and everything stops.” Before Pietro can interrupt, Clint continues. “I won't leave, though. Okay? I'll take care of you afterward, no matter what. And you won't be punished for using your safeword, and I won't be mad. All of this, it only works if we're both 100% into what's happening. Just make it something that won't come up in conversation, and it'll work.”

Pietro closes his mouth, and his hands are still up over his head and he's still hard in his pants, but he's obviously thinking, so Clint lets him. After a moment or two, he looks up, biting his lip. “I... Strucker. That is my word. Is that... all right?”

Clint feels something clench up in his throat, and he nods, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. When he finally does again, his voice is a little rough. “Yeah, kid. That's okay. That's fine. You say that, and we'll stop whatever we're doing, okay? Even if it's just to talk about something, or reevaluate it.”

“Okay,” Pietro says, and he shifts almost immediately, restless again. And Clint gets it, especially since the topic at hand isn't exactly comfortable, but they're doing this, now.

“Sit still,” he says, and Pietro stops moving for a moment, but Clint hasn't even finished taking in his next breath by the time he's moving again, pressing back against the wall as his back arches, his outline going a little blurry again as he starts vibrating so fast that Clint can't actually see the movement. So he steps forward and puts his hands back on Pietro's hips and _pushes_ until they're pressed firmly up against the wall, before leaning in, putting his mouth directly next to the kid's ear.

“Sit _still_.”

Pietro's breath hitches and he obeys, and Clint's hard in his pants, now, pressing up against the zipper, and it's painful but grounding, reminding him that this isn't about him. “Good boy,” he murmurs, and Pietro flushes a little, but his hips twitch under Clint's hands, showing just how much he likes that. “Yeah, that's my good boy. If I let go, are you going to listen?”

Pietro nods, a soft keening sound escaping his lips, so Clint lets go and pauses for a moment to watch. And the kid doesn't let him down. It's obviously an effort, and he's a little twitchy, but he's sitting still and not vibrating so much, so Clint reaches down and cups his cock through the track pants he's wearing as a reward, relishing the way it makes the kid let out a broken little moan. 

“You're so hard for me,” he murmurs, letting his hands slide up Pietro's body until they're back on his wrists. He hesitates, and then curls his fingers around each strong, defined arm and _lifts_ , until the kid's feet are off the ground. He has to press up onto the balls of his feet to do it, but he slides his knee in between Pietro's legs and presses and the kid moans and jerks, feet trying to find purchase against the wall. And Clint's strong, especially in the upper body area, but even he can't keep a full-grown man pinned to the wall indefinitely, so he lets Pietro slide down onto his leg and presses up and watches as the kid's eyes flutter shut.

“Slow,” he says, and shifts his legs so Pietro gets the hint to roll his hips down. When the kid does, his entire body arches away from the wall, from where his cock is pressed against Clint's thigh to where his wrists are pinned to the wall, and it's gorgeous. Clint sucks in a breath, humming when Pietro follows his instructions and keeps the movements of his hips slow and steady. “Yeah, just like that, _good boy_. Keep going. Is this what you wanted?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Pietro breathes, his hips hitching forward. His eyelids are still fluttering, like he's having a hard time keeping them open, and none of his breaths are coming evenly, and he's beautiful like this, his willing surrender exactly what Clint wants. It's a bit of a rush to have the kid watching him with lidded eyes while he rubs off against his thigh, slowly, as directed. Clint's not going to deny that. 

“Close your eyes for me,” he murmurs, and Pietro just... does. His eyes slip shut, and Clint's cock twitches against the front of his pants at the blatant obedience. He has to stop himself from shifting forward and rubbing off against the kid's hip, because it would feel so damn good, but that can come later. 

“Such a good boy,” he says in Pietro's ear, letting his teeth scrape ever so lightly over the shell. “You're doing so well. Little bit faster, now, and let me hear you.”

Pietro's hips jerk forward at the permission, and he whines high in his throat, head tipped back against the wall and eyes screwed shut. Clint knows he's not getting that much friction, just a tease of pressure against his hole and his balls and whatever pleasure comes from rubbing against the tightness of his track pants, but the kid's sensitive, he has to be, what with the sounds he's making. But Clint's pretty sure he can't come like this, and that's a shame, but he doesn't want to jerk the kid out of the pretty head space he's in just to rearrange them.

So, instead, he switches both of Pietro's wrists to one hand and reaches down with the other, cupping him through his pants. Pietro's whine turns into a keen, and then into a moan, and then into a string of broken Sokovian when Clint finds the wet head of the younger man's cock poking out above his waistband. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, and Pietro whimpers as he spills more precome over Clint's hand. And now Clint has his hand all the way in the kid's pants, fingers wrapped around his cock, jerking him slowly while his other hand keeps his wrists pinned to the wall. 

And all of a sudden, it's all very real, and the realization that they're here does something to Clint, makes something inside him open, snap, and it overflows through his mouth in some of the filthiest words he's ever heard himself say. He's still right next to Pietro's ear, and his voice is quiet, but it's intense, and the kid... the kid just writhes in his grip while he talks, moaning and whimpering unabashedly. 

“Look at you, how eager you are. Bet you'd let me do just about anything, wouldn't you? I could fuck you right up against this wall if I wanted to, and you'd take it so well, take my fingers and then my cock and you'd moan and beg for everything, every finger and every thrust, wouldn't you? You'd be such a good boy, my good boy, my perfect, gorgeous boy.”

Pietro's cheeks are flushed red with arousal and god knows what else, and he's doing his best to keep his thrusts into Clint's hand shallow and slow, like he'd been instructed, and it's perfect. He's doing so well, and from the slightly glazed look in the kid's eyes, and the way his hips stutter just a little every time Clint twists his wrist, he figures Pietro's about ready to come.

So he tightens his grip and watches as the kid gasps, eyes focusing back on Clint's face. “Please,” he says, and his accent his heavy, the word a little slurred. “Please, sir, _please_ I want...”

“I know. I know.” Turning his head down, Clint presses a kiss to the side of Pietro's neck and hitches his knee up a little more, before murmuring, softly, “Go for it, baby. Make yourself come for me.”

At his words, Pietro starts twisting in his grip, hips jerking forward as he chases his orgasm through Clint's fingers. He's going fast, rubbing against Clint's thigh at the same time that he presses up into his hand, his feet scrabbling for purchase against the wall, dick hard and red and leaking. It doesn't take him long, just a handful of thrusts, before the kid's whole body goes stiff and he's coming, spilling over Clint's hand and his own stomach.

“Good boy, _such_ a good boy,” Clint murmurs, stroking Pietro through his orgasm. He stops the movement when the kid starts to squirm, and wipes his hand on his pants before carefully guiding Pietro forward into his arms. And the kid just goes with him, folds against his chest and lets Clint pull his pants back up over his hips and carry him over to the bed. He's clinging to Clint's shoulders, face buried in his neck, so Clint lays down and tucks the kid in close, letting him cling as much as he wants.

He's stroking a hand up and down Pietro's back when the kid starts to stir, coming out of that head space that he was in that allowed him to let Clint take care of him. His face is still pressed up against Clint's neck, but his breaths are coming a little deeper, and Clint can feel him blinking against the delicate skin there.

“Hey,” he says gently, after a few more moments, turning his head to press a kiss to the kid's hair. “You with me? How do you feel?”

Pietro makes a soft noise and nods, and he's laying still enough, more or less draped over Clint's chest, close enough that Clint can feel every time he breathes, every time he adjusts his head. “Feel good,” he murmurs, and he sounds almost... surprised. “Feel really good.”

The kid doesn't offer up anything else, so Clint just hold him until he shifts away, sitting up and rubbing a hand through his white hair. He looks a little disoriented, and it's adorable, so Clint reaches up and straightens the messy mop of it before sitting up as well.

“You're sitting still,” he comments, and Pietro looks down at himself as if he just noticed that fact, too.

“I...” he begins, and then looks over and Clint, eyes a little wide. “After they... I'd never be able to, after they made me focus. They always made me more restless.” He looks back down at himself, and then all of a sudden, Clint has a lap-full of a twenty-something year old, with limbs that are scrambling to wrap themselves around him.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he says in Clint's ear, and the older man holds him as close as he can.

“Don't even worry about it,” Clint returns, smoothing his hand up and down Pietro's back. “Happy to give you this, kid. Glad it helps.”

Pietro perks up at that, one of his hands tentatively going to the waistband of Clint's pants. “Do you want me to...? You are still...”

Just as gently, Clint guides Pietro's hand away. “Yeah, I'm a little hard. Looking at you like that, how good you were for me? Wouldn't be human if it didn't turn me on.” He waits for Pietro's little smile, the little blush to start staining his cheeks, before he continues. “But not right now. This was all about you. Getting handled, remember? This was about figuring out if this worked for you and me.”

Pietro still doesn't look convinced, so Clint reaches for his hand and squeezes it, before putting it over the bulge in his own pants. The slight pressure makes his breath hitch, and Pietro looks up at him, confused. “You are... incredible,” Clint says, softly. “Amazing. You're sexy and smart and witty and a little shit when you want to be, and I am very, very attracted to you. You feel that?” He moves the kid's hand to his waist. “I want to have sex with you, just not right now. Next time, if that's how it works out. But don't ever doubt that I want you, all right? I want you so fucking much.”

That seems to settle the kid a little, and Clint's not an idiot, knows that Pietro will demand a little more insistently next time, but he hopes that, before next time, they'll have had the chance to talk and iron out the kinks, no pun intended.

He snorts at his own joke, and Pietro turns his head to set his teeth against the older man's collar bone. “Go t'sleep, old man,” he slurs, and his eyes are closed and his body is lax, and he's a really fucking pretty picture.

Clint curls around him, holding him close, and falls asleep the first time he tries.

**Author's Note:**

> Ran a little longer than I intended, but it's done now. The next installment should involve orgasms all around :)


End file.
